Sworn to a Highland Laird

by Sky Purington

  “Will ye tell me if I’m right then?” William searched Adlin’s eyes and evidently saw the answer. “Nay, I dinnae think ye will.” He grinned and shook his head. “I think yer testing me, exercising my mind, aye?”

  “What if I am?” Adlin shrugged. “Is that so bad? Sometimes we can better see things if said aloud, aye?”

  “Aye.” A wistful smile curled William’s lips as his eyes returned to the River Forth. “But ye well know I’d much rather hear about the future.” His eyes returned to Adlin’s. “I want to know if I’m leading my men to certain death.”

  “The only certain death ye’ll lead yer men to is if ye go down a path not well thought out,” Adlin murmured. “And if I know nothing else about ye William Wallace, ‘tis that ye dinnae do anything without giving it a great deal of thought.”

  If William read between the lines, he would know he had just been given his answer.

  He had just been given reassurance.

  “Aye,” Wallace agreed, his astute eyes stayed with Adlin’s. “But this is so much greater than mere thought. This, right here, is where we Scots take a stance. Where we dinnae let the Sassenach go any further...” His voice dropped to a whisper as his eyes returned to the bridge. “Where we create history...”

  William’s hatred ran deep as he continued. “They have killed so many. Raped, tortured, forced...” Wallace clenched his jaw, no longer the defiant boy Adlin once knew but a man made of grit and determination. A man set to single-handedly right all the wrongs done to his country. “Cressingham...” he said between clenched teeth.

  None were quite so loathed by the Scots as Sir Hugh de Cressingham, treasurer of the English administration in Scotland and advisor to John de Warenne, the Earl of Surrey. The truth was he wasn’t liked much by either side, but had burned far more bridges with his acquaintances in Scotland. By all accounts, he had become a symbol of disloyalty. A traitor of the people, garnering their trust and lining his pockets with what little money they had. He had done it while turning a blind eye to the atrocities England was raining down on the Scots. He did it while remaining a willing informant to whoever paid him the most. That, of course, was always the Sassenach.

  So, it was no surprise that he had landed on William Wallace’s radar.

  “I’ll see him skinned alive,” William vowed. His determined, vehement gaze never left the bridge. “Then I’ll divide up the pieces of skin amongst my most loyal followers.” His hand rested on the hilt of his blade. “But not before I create a new baldrick for my sword.”

  That, as Adlin knew all too well, was a threat William would see through if all went as planned.

  “So if ye willnae tell me of the future, Adlin MacLomain,” William murmured. “Mayhap then, ye’ll tell me why Milly’s gem is causing so much havoc.” His steady eyes turned to Adlin. “Does the enemy have magic? Have they men like ye that I should be aware of?”

  Adlin debated how much to tell him. “I dinnae know, but I will find out this eve.”

  “This eve?” William’s brows lowered. “Is that not giving me little notice before the battle?”

  “Aye, but even little warning is worth much when it comes to wizards.”

  “Is that why there are so many of ye here then? Not just ye but yer kin too?” William kept considering him. “Because ye knew we’d be fighting the likes of magic?”

  “I cannae tell ye if that is true because Grant wasnae specific,” he said. “But I think ‘tis verra likely.”

  “Ye know I was halfway expecting ye to show up,” William commented. “And I told Moray such.”

  “Aye, I sensed as much when we arrived,” Adlin said. “But figured if it were relevant to all this ye would have mentioned it sooner.”

  “Nay, ‘twas just a feeling.” He eyed Adlin. “Ye have a tendency to show up at turning points in my life which tells me a great deal about the upcoming battle.”

  Adlin remained vague. “Yet ye keep searching for hidden truths.”

  “What sort of leader would I be otherwise?” William kept considering Adlin. “Everything aside, I am grateful ye arrived, old friend. I dinnae doubt that ye have our country’s best interests in mind.”

  “And yer best interests as well.” Adlin clasped William’s shoulder. “It can be no other way.”

  Wallace nodded before he frowned. “What about Milly? Is there not a safer place for her in all this?”

  Adlin wasn’t about to mention that Milly was destined to be here. So he skirted the truth. “’Tis all part of her and I coming together.”

  “She has a strong will.” William eyed him for another moment before his gaze returned to the bridge. “’Tis lucky that she was clear about who she wants, or I might have battled ye a wee bit harder in that stream.”

  Adlin perked a brow. “Was she clear then?”

  “Aye.” William stood, shook his head and winked. “So says all the bloody ruckus coming from yer tent last eve.”

  Adlin grinned but offered no response as they headed back. If he had felt confident enough to use magic to muffle her sounds of pleasure he would have. Unfortunately, it was far too risky. Therefore, those such as Wallace or anyone else who might have had designs on her could no longer question where her desires lay. Not that it appeared William did.

  Yet later as he prepared for his rescue mission, he had to give Wallace credit. Though he had remained vague, Adlin sensed Milly had said something and William kept her confidence. His guess was she flat out told him she was interested in Adlin, rather than give him false hope. She respected Wallace too much.

  “I don’t like this.” Milly frowned as she watched Adlin strap on his weapons. “I wish I could help somehow.”

  “You can help by staying safe,” he replied as he readied himself to go save Bryce and possibly Lindsay. “All will go well, and I’ll be back in no time.”

  Concern knit her brow as she touched his arm and met his eyes. “Please be careful, Adlin.”

  “Aye, lass,” he murmured and pulled her against him. “Dinnae worry about me. I’m a seasoned warrior, and I’ll use magic if I have to. Nothing will happen to me, and if she’s there, I’ll get Lindsay back safely. I swear it.”

  “I know you will,” she whispered as he tucked a damp tendril behind her ear. They had bathed as best they could in the stream earlier. Because of that, it was hard to see anything else in his mind’s eye right now. She had looked like a beautiful wood nymph with her dark hair and voluptuous body.

  A small knowing smile came to her lips. “I bet I know what you’re thinking about right now.”

  Because it was so cold and too many could have happened upon them, it had been a chaste experience but well worth remembering. They had laughed and shared life experiences as they got to know each other better. He found her dynamic and a pleasure to chat with. She was as intelligent as she’d ever been with a sense of humor he was glad to see followed her from life to life. As all would agree, it would be unfortunate for any woman lacking a sense of humor to be destined for him.

  “Promise me you’ll stay in this tent with Blair and Aðísla,” Adlin said. “Do not exit under any circumstance, you ken?”

  “I know.” She shook her head. “I won’t.”

  Though he did not want to leave her, there was no choice. He had to find Bryce, and he could not put her in harm’s way. Not yet. Because he knew that if they were to see all this through properly, that’s exactly where she would end up. In the thick of a battle that would offer nothing but danger.

  It was with that thought in mind that he kissed her for all he was worth. A kiss that would have had them back beneath the furs if he didn’t break it off. So he brushed his lips across hers a few more times, made sure Blair and Aðísla were with her then departed.

  He would travel with Conall and Graham on horseback for a ways then leave them at the forest’s edge. Thankfully, there was ample cloud cover, and the added darkness was prime for stealth because not even Wallace’s and Moray’s watchmen saw the
m leave.

  “Do ye really think ye can pull this off, Adlin?” Graham said softly when they eventually swung off their horses. “I know ye’ve a way with the glamour and an alarming gift when it comes to mimicking a Sassenach, but how can ye trust if they’ve magic of their own that yers willnae be detected?”

  The truth was this was a risk all the way around with only two options. Aðísla had been able to provide very little new information other than that she sensed both familiar and unfamiliar magic. So no matter whether they snuck into camp or sauntered in for all to see, whoever possessed that unfamiliar magic, would know. She was, however, able to glean enough useful information, mainly names, to help him gain access to the camp.

  In the end, Adlin had decided to proceed disguised as the enemy so he could better assess the situation and best know how to get Bryce and anyone else out of there. He had done away with his braids, removed all signs of his clan’s colors and tied back his hair. He fully expected to find a mix of dialects including old English, Norman-French, Welsh, Bretton and sadly enough, even Scots Gaelic. English was his strongpoint outside of Gaelic so he would go with that.

  “Ye’ll go no further lads,” he murmured as they approached an area just upriver from Stirling Bridge. It was a rare spot that was close enough to the encampment yet difficult to see. “Once I’ve established what is happening and need yer assistance, I’ll signal ye.”

  Conall wore a heavy frown. “I dinnae like this, Cousin.”

  So it seemed considering he wasn’t Laird MacLomain for a change.

  “We’ve no choice.” Adlin pulled off his boots and rolled up his pants to keep them dry. “Have faith that all will go as it should.”

  “I have to agree with Conall.” Graham shook his head. “There is an odd feeling about all this.”

  “Odd feeling or not we’ve no direction to go but forward.” He nodded goodbye to both. “Stay vigilant and wait for my signal.”

  Disgruntled, both nodded in return before he set off and carefully navigated his horse across the river. Once he reached the other side, he put on his boots, rolled down his pants and swung off. After he patted down the horse thoroughly eradicating evidence of moisture, he remounted and headed for the encampment.

  It didn’t take long for someone to call out, “Who goes there!”

  “Geoffrey de Beauchamp,” he called back. “Ordered to keep an eye on the river.”

  “By who?”

  “Constable Hauville.”

  “Are you infantry or cavalry?”

  Though Hauville would typically give his orders to cavalry, he had been overseeing both for the past few days so that question had been a test.

  “Infantry. ‘Tis time for my post to be relieved.” And for added measure. “The eve’s half gone and I’ve yet to have me a taste of that redheaded whore.”

  Silence fell before he was given approval to move forward. Though things were relatively low-key, more men than he would have expected were still awake and sitting around fires. None paid him much mind but then he had a very convincing accent, and he knew whose eyes he should meet and whose he should not. Men, no matter their nationality, became different beasts during wartime. Some welcomed the comfort and comradery simple eye contact afforded where others took it more aggressively.

  He was about to sit by a fire and see what new information he could gather when a peel of laughter rippled through the night, and a feminine voice rang out. “Will it not be an absolute bore if we take that animalistic fury out of his eyes?”

  Men perked their heads and headed toward her voice, their eyes eager for what Adlin expected was yet another show. What he found in the clearing ahead, though, made him stop dead in his tracks and clench his fists in rage.

  Bryce was strung up between two trees, badly beaten and whipped. All but his plaid had been removed, and it was clear he had used no dragon magic to heal himself. While that was sound thinking, he was so close to death, Adlin would have not faulted him if he had. Based on Milly’s description from her dream, he knew without a shred of doubt who the man seated before Bryce was.

  Sir Hugh de Cressingham.

  Like every hot-blooded man there, Adlin honed in on the blond sitting next to him like a queen. Yet unlike the rest, he was not lusting after her.

  “I do not know.” Legs sprawled, totally at ease, Cressingham rested his chin on his fist and contemplated Bryce with arrogant disgust. “It has been so entertaining the past few nights watching him suffer.” He sighed and perked a brow at her. “Are you quite sure you do not want to end him now? I did promise you as much in return for,” he eyed her with lust, “certain favors, yes?”

  It took all he was capable of for Adlin to smooth his expression to one that made sense in this crowd rather than whip his dagger straight into Cressingham’s jugular. Because once he did, he would close the distance and rip his head off with his bare hands.

  What managed to keep him calm and focused was Lindsay. Because he knew without question, it was her. And remarkably enough, she seemed to be the only one keeping Bryce alive.

  “Oh, you’ll have those favors from me, Sir Cressingham,” Lindsay purred, dusting her fingers along his jaw with avid appreciation and definite promise. “All I have to offer.” She gave him a look that would melt most men’s hearts before her eyes drifted to Bryce and a small pout somehow made her appear even more attractive. “I think we should do it soon enough...” Her eyes grew wide with excitement and of all things, bloodlust. “Oh, ‘twould be the perfect sacrifice on the eve of the battle, would it not? Scots blood to pave the way to English victory!”

  Adlin had to give her credit for her accent. It was almost perfect. Where it wasn’t quite right, she added just a wee bit of a Norman accent. Enough to sound as though she might have resided in both England and France.

  “’Twould not be the first time we found victory in such a way,” Cressingham acknowledged as he considered Bryce. “And he’s bound to have more blood than most, is he not?”

  A sly yet haughty smile slithered onto Lindsay’s face as she eyed Bryce. “Oh yes, my Lord. I’d say you’re quite right.” She batted her lashes, and her cheeks grew pink as she gazed at Cressingham with adoration. “But should you not ask the Earl of Surrey first? I would not want to step on any toes.”

  “Yet you do at every turn,” came a dry voice as another man appeared.

  Lindsay tilted her head down in respect, her demeanor suddenly very submissive. “My apologies, my Lord, if I have somehow offended you.”

  Adlin eyed John de Warenne, the 6th Earl of Surrey. An English noble and military commander, he had been appointed ‘warden of the kingdom and land of Scotland’ by the king the previous year but hadn’t stayed in Scotland long due to the climate. Or so rumor had it. Based on his stature, Adlin wasn’t surprised by that. He seemed overly thin and not as big as expected.

  The Earl wrapped his hand into Lindsay’s hair and yanked her head back until their eyes were aligned. “Did I not tell you that you were to stay in my tent, woman? Was that not clear?”

  Lindsay’s lower lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears. “I just...”

  “You just what?” John barked.

  “My apologies, my Lord,” Cressingham interjected, not as alarmed as he should be considering he addressed his superior. “She’s here upon my request.”

  The Earl offered no response but yanked her by the hair and dragged her deeper into the encampment.

  “I guess I will have to wait my turn to have her,” Cressingham said dismissively before he gestured at the crowd, grinning. “As soon as I do she’s all yours, compliments of the crown to do with as you please.”

  As the men roared with approval, Adlin made to follow Lindsay, but a hand landed on his shoulder. “I would not follow lest risk your head.”

  “Will he not kill her,” he started to say but trailed off when he saw who had spoken.

  “Oh, he’ll kill her,” Grant said softly as his eyes met Adlin’s. “As is hi
s right, is it not?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  WHEN MILLY HEARD what sounded like Lindsay screaming she bolted upright from a sound sleep. At first, she had no idea where she was but soon realized it was on the back of a horse. She wore a hooded cloak and rode behind two men through a heavily wooded forest. Though it was dark, she could make out the crest on one of the men’s shields.

  Lundie.

  She knew that name. How though? From history obviously but what was his role?

  “The Earl willnae listen because Cressingham’s got that bitch in his ear,” Lundie muttered. “My men and I could cross two miles downstream and outflank Wallace and Moray, but Cressingham convinced the Earl ‘tis best to cross at Stirling Bridge.” He shook his head. “’Tis bloody foolish when sixty men can easily cross at the same time downstream.”

  Milly didn’t have to rack her brain any longer. This could only be Sir Richard Lundie, a Scots knight who joined the English because he was impatient and fed up with Scottish nobles arguing instead of taking action. Or so history speculated. Good thing she studied all of this or she would be lost. Even then, she was somewhat surprised it all came back to her so quickly.

  The man riding with him wore a black, hooded cloak, his voice raspy as though he had inhaled far too much smoke. “What matters is that Wallace and Moray hear that this is being planned and that the Earl is hesitating. That will ensure what needs to reach my enemy’s ears, does.”

  Milly frowned and tried to get a closer look at the man but couldn’t.

  “As it is, the bait has been taken,” the man continued, “and the rings are doing as they should. Causing dissent and confusion.”

  The rings? As in her ring and possibly others meant for her friends? Because the one on her finger had definitely been doing both of those things.

  “So we will move forward as planned,” Lundie said. “We will still send men across the river?”